Shut it, Angelica
by Supreme Distraction
Summary: You're sick of hearing her mouth and the request is more resigned than anything.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Thanks go to my beta, **GrimGrave**

 _ **ll**_

"Shut it, Angelica."

You're sick of hearing her mouth and the request is more resigned than anything, but you don't expect her to hit you and you certainly don't expect the way heat surges up into your fair cheeks and, more importantly, to the sweet spot between your thighs.

You don't remember moving, but suddenly there is a secondary _'SLAP'_ and her mouth is agape, her blue eyes wide. It takes a moment, but red bleeds into her cheek in the form of a handprint.

A scandalized "Oooh" rises, the reactive utterance echoed by several dozen students, and you start to stammer an apology, having suddenly become the center of attention making you feel acutely uneasy. The onlookers only seem to serve to raise the blonde's ire and she stands, shoving her seat back to produce a loud, dramatic cacophony. She stares at you, rage in her gaze, for a heartbeat before turning heel and leaving everyone, including you, in stunned silence.

And, as you watch Angelica Pickles' retreating back, you realize with a sinking sensation that she is actually quite upset.

You have to make this right.

…

The next morning is sunny and bright. Students mill around in the halls, chattering amongst themselves. Your little spat has been entirely forgotten by everyone but yourself and Angelica, who won't answer your texts, apparently. Suzie gives you a disapproving look when you ask if she has seen the aforementioned teen, but you pay her no mind. Since childhood, the bossy blonde has been at the top of your group hierarchy and you suppose old habits die hard as you finally catch sight of her in the hall and hasten to follow.

She's in a stall when you enter the bathroom, your heart beating a little more quickly than usual.

You wrack your brain for something—anything—to say, but it's only when she tries to push past you that you manage to blurt, "I said I was sorry!" in a pitiful mockery—quiet, fearful—of your own voice.

Your hand is on her wrist, barring her escape. When had that happened?

"Let me go, Kimi."

You don't like the way she says it. The utter lack of airs—the veritable coat of haughtiness that years of living with her elitist mother had taught her—is disturbing. Angelica doesn't even seem particularly angry and that bothers you most of all.

You'd take anger over this-this sudden _blankness._

"Are you still mad..?"

 _Say yes_ , you think. Then, at least, you'll know what's going on behind the teen's utter lack of expression.

"No." She offers no explanation and tries to move past you a second time.

You tighten your grip, using your body to play goalie. "Angelica, talk to me."

"I thought you said to 'shut it'." It's then that you see it: a glimmer in bright blue eyes. You can't be sure what it is just yet.

You've never been a very good liar. There's evidence of that in the way you can't immediately tell her that you didn't mean it. Which is probably for the best because you can tell from her expression that she won't believe you anyway.

"You were kind of being a bitch."

For a moment, you think she's going to hit you and you cringe reflexively, but make no move to stop her. Let her vent her anger.

When instead a hand still cool from its recent wash cups your cheek you flinch, and that momentary hesitation allows the taller girl to lean in and press her lips to yours, the soft, warm press of lips making you gasp. In the next instance, your back meets the cold bathroom wall and you're kissing back, your tongue twisting against hers in a battle for dominance.

She tastes almost sweet—surprising considering her sour attitude.

When you pull away to recapture your breath, you're both flushed and breathless. You see that glimmer again and this time you can almost put a name to the dark, heated light—like a physical touch.

Her eyes snap into focus, boring into yours and, suddenly, you're hot all over. You get hotter yet when, still holding your gaze, Angelica lowers herself slowly to her knees, her hands on the waistband of your shorts.

* * *

She looks up at you, big blue eyes pleading, and you have to stifle a giggle. You know fully well that the haughty blonde will storm out if you make a comment about how cute she is or how you like it when she's on her knees.

Instead, you grip her hair and moan quietly, encouragingly. You're gratified by the way she redoubles her efforts to please you, her eyes now heavy-lidded.

Who would have thought that Angelica would be such a willing bottom?

You bite your lip, eyelids fluttering, and sink your hand into luxurious flaxen locks to steel yourself against the waves of pleasure that shoot through you as a pink tongue laps a hot path over your sex.

The bell rings. You tighten your grip, silently daring the little vixen to dare and tell you that your impending climax will have to wait.

Instead, that clever pink tongue assaults your clit and you cry out, shuddering, electric heat making you go limp as orgasm sweeps through you. You're only vaguely aware of the way you're pressing her to your sex, hips pumping to draw as much pleasure out of her talented tongue as you can. A small eternity later, you release the blonde, slumping against the wall, and she sits back on her heels, wiping her chin, which shines with your excitement, with the back of her hand.

She's complaining about how your grip has messed up her perfect hair, though you know now that the way she huffs dramatically is purely affectionate.

You grin tiredly. "Shut it, Angelica."

When she hits you this time, you just kiss her, tasting yourself faintly on full lips, and dart off.

You're late for class.

 _ **ll**_ **End**

Thank you for reading my first foray into this fandom. Let me know what you thought in the box below :3


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